


The Greeks Knew the Score

by angeloncewas



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Temporary Character Death, Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Introspection, Paranoia, Past Character Death, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, That's the whole premise, Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, Tubbo is Theseus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloncewas/pseuds/angeloncewas
Summary: In which Technoblade told the right story to the wrong person.-“Chekhov's Gun,” Wilbur had repeated, over and over as the final battle approached.Sometimes Tubbo wonders how everyone has let the Greek myths Techno alludes to pass as offhand jokes.
Relationships: Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot
Comments: 12
Kudos: 227





	The Greeks Knew the Score

* * *

  


_Theseus was widely considered the greatest Athenian hero. He inherited the throne and, as king, managed to politically unify the area, establishing a peaceful and prosperous period for Athens._

  


* * *

  


  


“Isn’t it wonderful, Fundy?” Tubbo asks, bright and earnest as he traverses the Prime Path with his Secretary of State. “Dream has finally, _finally,_ recognized L’manburg as its own country. This is everything we’ve fought for.”

Fundy’s steps are cautious, his nod small and reserved. “It is, it is. You did it.”

“I feel like you should be more excited," Tubbo remarks as he stops and swivels around, abruptly halting their march towards home. Tommy’s old house is to their left and Tubbo forces himself not to crane his neck over the Fundy’s shoulders to see the bench he knows sits just out of his line of sight. “In a way, L’manberg is yours.”

Tubbo says it thinking of a different time, with music echoing over untouched land and the soft joy of a man with nothing but failure to fear. The country Tubbo calls his own is Fundy’s birthright; there is not a single citizen to whom it should matter more.

Fundy had denounced it once, with spite in every syllable, but they’d all made sacrifices during the war. Now, he can be proud of the sprawling land that calls his name.

Tubbo realizes he’s made a mistake somewhere in his pondering of this as he watches Fundy’s ears press flat against his head and his eyes narrow. Tubbo suddenly recognizes that he is being stared down by a predator and he pushes down the fear that threatens to climb up his throat.

“Yeah. It is, isn’t it?” Fundy replies like he’s issuing a challenge and Tubbo isn’t sure what to say.

This was supposed to be a happy day. The walls are coming down. Dream took off his armor in the center of L’manberg as a show of solidarity. It feels like they’ve finally reached true peace after all of this time at war and on edge; it’s been a day beyond their wildest dreams.

  


_I never thought any of the other stuff would’ve happened either,_ Tubbo amends internally. Tommy and Ghostbur have not been seen since the exile and there are times he turns to speak with one or both of them and is met with only the frigid chill of silence. Plus, there’s the issue of Fundy, who hasn’t smiled since they watched Dream’s sword press against the line of Tommy’s spine. Who he now has made even more upset.

  


“I was born in L’manberg.” Fundy says quietly. He raises his chin defiantly, an answering blow to a hit Tubbo didn’t mean to land. “It is my country. More than it has ever been yours.”

The words fall heavy between them and Tubbo can’t help but feel lost, despite the fact that he’s standing on land whose peaks and valleys he knows better than the scars on his own skin. Fundy is his friend. They have been friends since before anything went wrong and he cannot imagine losing that, especially after making it through all that did.

Footsteps clatter from the other side of the path and Fundy’s ears perk up, both of them turning to see Eret walking deeper into Dream SMP territory. He seems to catch their movement and he waves as he passes, pausing when Fundy bounds over towards him. Without so much as a backwards glance at Tubbo, Fundy falls into step beside Eret- the man who once killed him- looking more comfortable than Tubbo has seen in weeks.

He doesn’t dare call out a goodbye, isn’t sure what would be sufficient to say, especially not when the man the fox is gazing at adoringly still makes his ears ring.

 _Maybe this is karma,_ Tubbo thinks unwillingly. He knows his cabinet is still angry at him for the decision he made atop the wall, but he can’t bring himself to apologize for it, not when it finally gained L’manberg the respect of the most powerful being for miles.

  


ー

  


Just days ago, before Tommy took a torch to the house of the Dream SMP’s former king, Ghostbur spoke to Tubbo.

 _“...the best president L’manberg has ever had,”_ the ghost had called him, grinning. 

Tubbo never expected to be hearing those words from a spirit, especially not Wilbur’s, but they’d instilled in him a sort of assuredness. If a fragment of memory from the man who created the country has faith in his administration, he has to be doing something right.

  


If he’s more honest with himself, he knows that the bar he has cleared is ever so low. Even worthless ore looks like the stars when you’re standing on bedrock. It’d probably be more impressive if he somehow managed to be the _worst_ president L’manberg has ever had.

  


From atop the crater that he chose to leave intact, surrounded by pieces of decorations still up from his execution, Tubbo cannot help but fear what his time in office will be known for.

  


_Peace,_ he sighs, _but at what cost?_

  


  


* * *

  


_Theseus was often compared to his childhood hero, Heracles. When he was young, Heracles visited Theseus’ kingdom and took off his lion-skin before sitting at the dinner table. The children of the palace, mistaking it for a real lion, all fled in fear and alarm, but Theseus calmly took an axe and attacked the skin._

  


* * *

  
  


Tubbo’s deepest, darkest secret- beyond the suit he donned as a spy but wore with pride, any grudges he cannot bring himself to let go of, deals he’s made in his presidency that weren’t exactly legal- is that he understood Wilbur, even until the very end. He still feels as though he understands him, in fact.

Some days, when work is slow and the country sleeps early, Tubbo breaks into the button room from the hillside with a borrowed pickaxe and stares at the signs lining the walls.

_My L’manberg. My L’manberg._

  


_ー_

  


Wilbur and Tubbo had both stopped wearing the clothing of the revolution at the same time. One morning he’d awoken, only to be struck with the distinct feeling that it was time try and move past all that had happened. He’d put on the clothes he wore before everything began and breathed a sigh of relief at the loss of the uniform’s weight.

Just hours later, a man with a hint of madness in his eyes was gesturing to his dirty trench coat with flat, open hands and a smile so plastic it looked like it might crack.

Tubbo knew that smile. He saw it reflected in Tommy’s eyes most days they met up to share information. It tasted like metal in his mouth, felt so artificial he wasn’t sure how it wasn’t making his teeth rot. Tommy never noticed, but Wilbur did. And Wilbur hadn’t trusted him for it.

Maybe a fair assessment, maybe another sign of Wilbur’s deteriorating state that they’d missed; Tubbo’s not sure how things would’ve gone had he not died on the very stage his best friends had expected to be sworn into office from. They’ll never know, not really.

  


Still, he preens slightly every time someone compares him to Wilbur. It catches Ranboo’s watchful eye during meetings, probably ends up scribbled in that notebook of his, but Tubbo cannot make himself stop. He is determined to be Wilbur, _but better._

Wilbur had never been the most down-to-earth of men, despite what Tommy likes to say from the memories he’s cherry-picked. That edge of danger is exactly what had made Wilbur great, until it consumed him. Success is never easy after all, hardly ever born of caution.

While Tommy is the type to see a tree for its leaves, Wilbur and Tubbo have always been big-picture people. They’d burn the whole forest down without hesitation if they thought it would bring the best result.

Tubbo knows this, if nothing else.

There are many things that slip past him- not enough hands in high places willing to reach down and help, too many people with their own issues going on- but he’s always been near-painfully self-aware.

  


ー

  


_“You’re the only one who still looks me in the eye.”_ Wilbur had said to him, standing in Pogtopia one evening. The man’s tone had been so light you could watch it disappear in the breeze, but it locked onto Tubbo like a vice.

He’d still been walking the middle line then, praise from his employer tucked carefully into his back pocket. Wilbur had meant it as a threat, a warning that he knew what Tubbo was up to. Wilbur had been convinced Tubbo’s confidence meant betrayal.

It hadn’t, not really. Tubbo knew a lot less than Wilbur thought he did. He couldn’t even spy properly because Schlatt kept most of his plans under careful lock-and-key and most days he felt like he was watching the world cave in on itself.

He just could recognize a piece of himself in the gaze he kept daring to meet. Behind it stood a man with aspirations he would do anything to reach, absolute loyalty to what he himself deemed important.

  


_“Chekhov's Gun,”_ Wilbur had repeated, over and over as the final battle approached.

Sometimes Tubbo wonders how everyone has let the Greek myths Techno alludes to pass as offhand jokes.

  


_Dying like a hero might not be too bad._

  


That confession too, remains a secret. He keeps it in a box in the back of his office with the very coat that’d once hung from Wilbur’s hunched shoulders. It is his monument to the past. To the hero who came before him.

  


  


* * *

  


_Theseus was determined to end Minoan dominance in Athens. Power was held over their heads by the threat of the Minotaur, so Theseus, despairing over the fate of innocent young Athenians, volunteered to be thrown into the Labyrinth with the risk of being devoured by the monstrous half-man half-bull._

  


* * *

  


  


Jack Manifold keeps a picture of Schlatt in his bedroom and though the man seems excited to show him it and its purpose, seeing it makes Tubbo’s skin crawl. Jack leans forward to catch Tubbo’s eye, grinning as he adjusts his suit subtly.

“Do you like it?”

“Uh… What is it?”

Jack’s knuckles rap twice against the two wooden signs above the image. Tubbo didn’t notice them at first, slanted writing in black across them.

_Be Better_

“What- What does it mean?”

“You got rid of him Tubbo.” Jack’s voice is warm and sure. “And I want to be sure no one will ever be like him again.”

“I mean... he kind of just died on his own.” Everyone had known of Schlatt’s drinking problem, from sparse friends to enemies. It’d been documented in Pogtopia’s notes, the man’s overconfidence in his failing body. Even now though, Tubbo isn’t sure if anyone had known just how bad it was. They’d gone in for war and come out with who they thought was their greatest enemy dead next to his dumbbells.

The black headset Jack’s always wearing slips a little as he shakes his head vehemently. “You died first because you dared to defy him.” A rueful smile crosses his face, “I was never even brave enough to leave the country.”

Tubbo dips his head in acknowledgement. Jack has always been a sort of third-party, playing his own game by his own rules, but if nothing else it’s comforting to hear that someone sees his blood on the podium as bravery, rather than a reminder of his mistakes.

  


They exchange pleasantries, Tubbo thanking him for his promises and Jack clasping their hands together in goodbye. He makes his way back through the maze of trees surrounding the property slowly, leaves brushing together in the wind as he watches.

  


ー

  


Jack Manifold lives on L’manbergian land that he refuses to acknowledge as such. He calls it “Manifold Land” and Tubbo has never had the heart to fight him on it. In a way, he understands. The country’s name is such a heavy weight. He’s not sure what could drive a person to want to admit to living there, on the stilts of battles and broken men. 

Frankly, he’s not sure what could drive a person to want to be president of it, either. Power, for Quackity. Ignorance, perhaps, for Ranboo. 

Delusion, for himself. By the name of Wilbur. Wilbur, the first person for whom he'd broken his once-rigid moral code, supplying the man and his business with blaze rods. Wilbur, who had tried to convince Tommy that Tubbo was lying to him.

Wilbur, who’d gestured with a torn-glove hand and urged him towards the stage.

_“You’re a good kid, and an even better spy.”_

Finally in his idol's good graces, he’d ignored everything to make his way to the microphone. Including the wounded look and step back Fundy took; brave Fundy, who’d lasted longer under Schlatt than Tubbo had been able to, who’d been a better spy than he ever could’ve been.

He ignored it all and missed the way Wilbur backed slowly out of the audience with a promise to return, lost in the feeling of finally being deemed _worthy._

  


He will never know if Wilbur knew what he was doing when he handed Tubbo a bomb with a three-second timer, but there will always be a part of him, convinced that Wilbur had meant what he said. That he wasn’t that good of a liar; that Tubbo is the only person who is fit to be the president.

  


ー

  


_It’s so easy for Jack Manifold,_ he can’t help but think as he walks back home. He can count on one hand the amount of times the man interacted with Schlatt. He’s sure Jack doesn’t even remember the sound of Schlatt’s voice, doesn’t wake up with his hands tangled in his hair, desperately searching for horns he’s sure will have grown and given him away. 

Jack Manifold isn’t trying to keep up a legacy he was given by other people, now gone. Jack is making his own. Tubbo admires him for it, but it is not enough to make him want to go back into that house and stare his demons in the eye.

  


  


* * *

  


_Theseus had a notable friendship with Pirithous, one of the Lapiths. The two heroes were so filled with admiration for each other that they swore brotherhood. Years later, when their raid into the Underworld went awry, Theseus abandoned Pirithous to suffer under Hades’ wrath._

  


* * *

  
  


Ghostbur sits next to Tubbo on the dock, his legs making no ripple in the water despite how they dip into the sea. 

“Why can’t Tommy come back?” His voice is so delicate it makes Tubbo’s heart burn. Tubbo clutches at his chest for a second and wills the air to climb back into his lungs, hoping, not for the first time, that the curse of internal afflictions isn’t attached to the title of president.

“I exiled him,” Tubbo replies simply. He knows Ghostbur won’t get it, he’s been repeating that same answer for what seems like hours now, but he can’t bring himself to say anything more.

  


It feels like Tommy’s face is painted in monochrome colors on the inside of his eyelids, the sharp blue of his eyes the only thing that stands out. They light with pain in his memory and Tubbo is forced to watch the scene on loop, his best friend getting struck with the realization that _this is happening,_ that _Tubbo is exiling him._

What had Tubbo called him? _Selfish?_ The word makes him feel ill and he leans further over the side of the wooden railing, smelling the salt of the ocean and wondering if wherever Tommy is, he can do the same.

  


The ghost’s excited tone and the arm in front of his face cut through his thoughts. “Look Tubbo, there’s Dream!”

Tubbo’s eyes squint as he tries to see into the sunset. He can’t find Dream at first, but Ghostbur points again, emphatically, and Tubbo manages to catch the white glint of the mask that Dream’s never seen without.

The bow he carries hangs limp from his side like an afterthought, but it doesn’t make Tubbo relax any. Dream’s never had a crown or a throne, but he doesn’t need one. Raw power drips from his hair like water beads, sloshes into his bare hands and pools around his feet. Eret is the man in the castle, but no one is stupid enough to think that the circlet around his curls is any more than costume jewelry.

“Dream!” Ghostbur calls. Tubbo wants to shush him, but it’s too late, Dream turns their direction and dives into the water, trident clutched in his right hand. He flies up and towards them with grace and puts the weapon away as he lands, the usual frozen smile obscuring his face and something that looks like a burn on his sleeve.

“Hi Wilbur. Hello Tubbo.” The voice from behind the porcelain is nondescript and amicable, like a store clerk you’d forget in a few minutes. Tubbo wonders if that too is a carefully constructed costume, or just something Dream has learned to use to his advantage.

Ghostbur throws Dream some blue and all but glitters when he actually picks it up and pockets it. “Hi Dream,” Ghostbur repeats. “We were just talking about Tommy.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, we were. Right Tubbo?”

If this was Wilbur, it would’ve felt like a setup, a diversion for something more important. Here, now, it’s simply a question Tubbo doesn’t particularly care to answer.

“Uh, yeah,” he ventures. “Talking about him coming back. You know, potentially.”

Dream’s tone is chiding when he speaks, the pinprick eyes on his mask piercing. “He’s in exile. Forever. You’re lucky that’s all I wanted. I could’ve asked for a lot more.”

Tubbo knows. He knows too well. He knows that one wrong move and the obsidian walls could end up exactly where they were before, that any day now the people could decide he’s not meant to have power and put him in a box again, that keeping Tommy away is all he can do to save the country they’ve both given up their lives for twice over.

  


_It’s always been us against Dream,_ he thinks, in spite of himself. Tubbo can tell that Quackity and Fundy are still uneasy around him, but it’s nothing compared to the spite he sees in his own mirror. 

  


ー

  


Wilbur had said it to him when he was alive, as he was taking Tubbo to see Pogtopia for the first time. The “sunk cost fallacy,” he’d called it. 

_“I think you are physically incapable of giving up L’manberg.”_

There’d been no bite to Wilbur’s tone, just the underlying anxiety that permeated every word the man spoke since his exile. He’d been hesitant to show Tubbo where they were hidden, so sure that the boy would give his friends up for the plot of land that went, at that point, by a different name.

  


ー

  


_You were right,_ he thinks, watching Ghostbur’s mouth move as he speaks to Dream, no sound reaching his ears. Tubbo had given up Manberg easily enough, especially after his public execution and subsequent forced ejection, but L’manberg held his heart more steadfastly than his own ribs. He couldn’t sacrifice that, or the country’s people. Not even for-

“-ommy thinks Tubbo abandoned him, but I don’t think so. Tubbo is my friend.” Tubbo clicks back into focus at the sound of Ghostbur speaking his name in his usual soft drawl, but he only catches the end of what was said. 

Something about friends. His exhaustion hits him all at once and everything feels overwhelming all of a sudden.

  


“Right,” Dream sounds like he’s smiling, an upwards lilt to his words. It’s soothing, it’s infuriating; Tubbo wants to sit and talk with him or throw him into the harbor, he’s not quite sure which.

“We’re all very proud of Tubbo. He does a lot for L’manberg.”

  


_“I’m proud of you Tubbo. You do a lot for Manberg.”_

  


Tubbo’s lungs feel full of gravel, but he swallows and smiles and thanks Dream for the compliment.

  


  


* * *

  


_Theseus, after his travels, hurried back to Athens only to find out that the power he’d once held had been taken from him. He fled to Lycomedes, the king of the island of Scyros, but that was a tragic mistake. Lycomedes was a supporter of his opposition and he planned to betray Theseus’ trust._

  


* * *

  


  


Tubbo watches with wary eyes as Ranboo slips back through the nether portal just as the sun reaches its hands into the horizon.

“Where were you?” he asks, tone light. “Sam and I missed you today.”

He’s not lying, work is significantly slower with even one person missing, but this isn’t the first time Tubbo has noticed Ranboo’s odd hours and long stretches of disappearance into the nether. He doesn’t want to appear invasive, but he’s finding it harder and harder to ignore the itch at the back of his brain.

“Oh,” Ranboo’s heterochromatic gaze is as unwavering as ever, but there’s a small drop to his voice, one Tubbo only recognizes from so many hours out in the ocean together. “I, uh, can’t remember. Sorry.”

He doesn’t point out the unreality of that; unless Ranboo got lost, not enough time has passed for the memory to have been taken from him. The half-enderman waves him good night and walks away as Tubbo wonders if he’s imagining the faint purple glow that surrounds his right side.

  


ー

  


“Are you still mad at me?” Tubbo asks, finally. “Just- just be honest.”

Quackity sighs. There’s something tense in his frame; the man hardly ever is serious, but when he has something important to say he drops the many layers of humor he carries like extra warmth. 

“No Tubbo. I just don’t like how the Tommy thing happened.”

“We can still go visit him,” Tubbo offers weakly, but Quackity immediately shakes his head.

“That’s not the problem. It’s not even really about Tommy.”

L’manberg is strange at night, long shadows stretching from Ranboo’s “R” and the crane while the lanterns begin to glow like burgeoning stars overhead. Quackity looks more dangerous than he would by day, artificial light glittering off of his Yeezys. They’re not allowed, not technically, but Tubbo always felt like asking would be too much.

“We made a decision,” Quackity says sternly. “We made a decision together and you went against it on your own.”

“But I-”

“And against your best friend too! If it was me or Fundy, you probably wouldn’t even have hesitated.”

It’s only times like these that Tubbo remembers he’s the youngest citizen, carrying a power those much older wanted for themselves.

“You’ve been hanging out with Dream’s closest friends an awful lot,” he replies. It’s a terrible accusation, but it’s the only response he can think of. Who is Quackity to judge what Tubbo did for the good of L’manberg, when he’s associating himself with their greatest enemies?

The man’s laugh is sharp and bitter-sounding. “I think Dream’s closest friend is Tommy, Tubbo.”

Tubbo falls silent, his mind reeling. “What?”

“I mean, the guy’s out there with him. You’re his ‘best friend.’ Where are you?”

“I’m here.” Tubbo wants to scream, but he doesn’t, shouldn’t, can’t. “I have to be here. I have to take care of L’manberg.”

“You should be careful with that.” Quackity’s gaze holds none of its usual softness, something grave and dark behind his blank expression. “You’ve seen what happened to everyone who cared about that country. They always ended up caring too much.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Quackity shrugs. “The last president had his bones sold in the Targay. I’d say that’s pretty bad.”

  


ー

  


“What have you two been up to?”

He’s caught Niki and Fundy with their hair windswept and cheeks flushed, boots looking scuffed and covered in dust. He hasn’t spoken to either of them lately, and while that’s not necessarily an abnormal thing- what with all the work he’s been doing for the guardian farm- he hasn’t left L’manberg in a few days and he hasn’t seen them even once.

They share a look that lingers too long, one full of questions and answers between just the two of them.

“We were mining, see?” Fundy shuffles through his belongings and takes out his pickaxe, as if having it proves something. Niki nods vigorously, avoiding Tubbo’s gaze.

“Nikki,” he addresses directly, “you guys really mined for this long?”

She glances at Fundy nervously, whose ears flick quickly in her direction and then back down. She swallows and picks dirt off of her sleeve. “We were. We needed a lot of stuff.” Her voice is gentle, as though she’s trying to placate him, but it wobbles slightly. “You know how I never have armor or anything.”  
  
“You’re not wearing armor now.”

“Yes well-” Fundy cuts in, stepping forward. Tubbo can see Niki’s shoulders sag in relief just before sharp fox eyes obscure his vision. “We haven’t crafted it yet. We need to go do that, so, c’mon Niki.”

He’s tempted to follow them, as they go down the steep part of the Prime Path into central L’manberg, but he doesn’t. It feels like it would start a fight and Fundy has weapons and armor that outrank his own.

Even if he didn’t, Tubbo doesn’t want to fight against a member of his cabinet. No matter how absent that member may be. No matter the fact that he has no idea what any of the people he’s trusted for so long are doing anymore.

  


  


* * *

  


_After a few days of feigned hospitality, Lycomedes took the unsuspecting Theseus on a tour of the island; the second they reached its highest cliff, he violently pushed Theseus to his death._

  


* * *

  


  


_“My back is against the wall, Tubbo.”_

_Obsidian-black horns curl against the sides of the man’s angular face as he looks down at Tubbo with a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind, his palms facing upward and shoulders shrugged in an expression of mock-helplessness._

  


ー

  


Tubbo wakes up panting.

He rarely remembers his dreams. He’s sure some of the ones that slip his mind are lovely narratives, where he follows the clicking compass wound around his neck or sits on the edge of his ruined house in perfect condition, but he only remembers the nightmares.

Schlatt’s face and the festival. Schlatt’s hands and fireworks. Schlatt’s voice and broken promises. Sometimes all at once.

  


Only Quackity knows. Tubbo thought maybe the man would understand, having been in love with Schlatt once, but his admission was met only with a shake of a beanie-clad head.

_“That guy’s out of my life and that includes when I’m asleep. And I’m glad.”_

  


Maybe that’s why he says nothing when the vice-president role goes essentially unfilled for weeks, Quackity off and running, having built an entirely new country for him and his closest friends. None of whom are Tubbo. It doesn’t matter, most days. The man was filling the empty space his best friend left behind anyway, like a piece of a completely different puzzle.

Sometimes though, Sapnap and Karl’s laughter ringing over L’manberg, he remembers just before the final battle. How the two of them stood on opposite sides of the magma cubes and voted to stay or go. How he almost ran away from everyone, including Tommy, to be safe and happy with Quackity by his side.

  


Something burns on his tongue and he drinks a strength potion on a whim. It doesn’t calm his heart or still his mind, but maybe he won’t die today if he has it.

  


There is not, surprisingly, a lot of danger as president. No one except maybe Dream is eager to enter back into war, so even small skirmishes are mostly stifled. That doesn’t stop Tubbo from feeling paranoid; he sees shadows on the fringes of his vision even as the sun rises.

  


He circles around from the potato farm and he makes his way to Ranboo’s house, eyeing the posters lining the walls. **Wanted: Dead or Alive**. The outdated picture of Technoblade seems to mock him.

  


ー

  


_“Techno is on our side!”_ they’d told him. Tommy and Wilbur, still bright, though the latter had been edging on feverishly so. They'd truly meant it; with all the confidence of family, the security in knowing that the people you loved also loved you.

Tommy had talked his ear off for days about how excited he was to have Techno in Pogtopia, announcing it proudly at any given opportunity and attempting to have the pig flex his strength.

Techno always refused, but there was a thin thread of laughter that wove its way through his deadpan tone and it made him seem a little more human.

Even Wilbur seemed to ease up a bit from his tirades when Techno was around. The two of them fit together in a way Tubbo hadn’t been sure if even him and Tommy could match. Wilbur would watch Techno plant and harvest with the smallest, most delicate smile on his face. The only real one he’d mustered since Pogtopia was created, so fragile, if the wind blew the wrong way, it would break.

  


_“They’re always like that.”_ Tommy had said on one instance, something pinched in his gaze. _“Leaving me out of things. Ever since I was a kid.”_ He’d laughed then, that sharp thing that he’d gotten so good at faking, Tubbo couldn’t tell if it was real anymore.

 _“You’re still a kid.”_ Technoblade had simply replied, either ignoring the bite to Tommy’s words or missing it entirely. It seemed to diffuse the situation either way, Tommy waving his sword haphazardly and shouting senseless threats. Wilbur exchanged a look with Techno and then raised an eyebrow at Tommy, saying nothing, which only made the boy sputter more.

For those few minutes their ravine had managed to feel like home somehow, like warmth and light instead of fear and bitter cold.

  


Technoblade, for all his stoicism, was an anchor in their vast and lawless ocean. He watched Tommy fight and gave quiet, blunt criticism. He worked for hours to ensure they had enough food. He built railings so that Wilbur would stop leaning towards a fall that they never acknowledged, but all knew would kill him.

The pig terrified Tubbo, but anyone with his sort of raw power did, so that wasn’t indicative of much.

  


Until his bow was aimed between Tubbo’s eyes, of course.

Anchors are meant to pull you down.

  


Afterwards, they’d all expected Tubbo to forgive Techno, so he had. He wasn’t meant to hold a grudge, the pig’s back had been against a wall. What with Schlatt’s command and the voices in his head whispering for blood. At least he fought for a split second, right? To keep a promise he’d never even made; one his brothers had made for him.

Tubbo still isn’t sure. He can’t look at fireworks anymore, or even bursts of color quite right.

Techno had ended up betraying them anyway, and the excuse hadn’t worked for him a second time. He’d been too much like the other monsters then, more mistake than happy memory.

Like Schlatt, whose defaced grave sits on the side of a cliff and whose funeral had been punctuated by laughter. Or Wilbur, whose ghost had asked why he doesn’t have a grave at all. Everyone’s more willing to mourn the destruction of old L’manberg than the man that caused it.

  


ー

  


_My back is against air._ Tubbo thinks to himself as he takes a slight detour, stepping into the quiet of Tommy’s abandoned home and taking a deep breath. _I’m not trapped. There’s just nothing left to catch me._

He lets himself have a few moments before rounding up the stairs to greet Ranboo. When he gets to the front doors though, one of them is open and no one’s inside; Ranboo’s pets and an open notebook on the bed are all that’s waiting for him.

 _Had to do something._ The memo reads. _Will be back later._

  


Tubbo steps back out and looks around, only to realize that L’manberg is empty.

  


**Author's Note:**

> this fic ended up so long for me, but i'm quite proud of it. it started when i saw a comment that said "theseus died of suicide and that's why tommy (character) is going in that direction," theseus didn't actually die that way, and from there i realized that tommy doesn't really have a lot in common with theseus (or didn't at the time, they've increased the parallels) so i went looking for who did and it felt like tubbo's main characteristics fit so well i had to try and piece it together.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Silenced](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401402) by [Meaningless_Mayhem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meaningless_Mayhem/pseuds/Meaningless_Mayhem)




End file.
